


Mission Control to Babe

by audreycritter



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Green Lantern - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types
Genre: Brief appearance by diana, Gen, NASA says babe Hal can say babe, Pure Crack, fluff?, i’m not going to be MAD if you read this as shipfic but it’s intended to be platonic, reclaiming platonic affection from the hellpit of toxic masculinity, somehow i have generated crack, toxin masquerading as weed or something, weird friends being weird, who am i anymore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-15
Updated: 2019-08-15
Packaged: 2020-09-01 16:51:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20261368
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/audreycritter/pseuds/audreycritter
Summary: Clark has to babysit two men who are slightly more high than either of them planned to be.





	Mission Control to Babe

**Author's Note:**

  * For [quodthey](https://archiveofourown.org/users/quodthey/gifts).

> This is dumb and fun and nobody even bleeds.

The tower was quieter than Clark expected, considering the message he’d gotten was _require your assistance_ from Diana. He’d floated out of bed, kissed Lois goodbye before she dragged a pillow over her head with a growl, and flew from balcony through atmosphere and into space. One of the airlocks had been left open for him. 

He found Diana not in the command room, or the medical bay, but Bruce’s quarters. She’d contacted him over the intercom after a futile few seconds of zipping around. A sour feeling settled in the pit of his stomach at that. That could be bad news, since it was Bruce.

What he actually found made him feel like maybe _he_ was the one in the midst of medical crisis.

“What’s going on,” he whisper-asked Diana, when the door hissed shut behind him. He stared at the bed, where Hal Jordan was sitting up propped against the headboard. Bruce was sprawled across the bed, his head pillowed on Hal’s lap, while he glared at a puzzle held aloft above his face. 

“There was an incident,” she said quietly. “With an airborne toxin.”

Clark frowned at the men on the bed. He and Diana were hardly out of earshot, and nobody looked injured. He listened for a moment. Bruce’s heart was a steady beat. It was a calm, resting rate, even. 

“Babe,” Hal said, a little too loudly. “Babe. Your hair is so soft.”

“Hn,” Bruce replied. He twisted part of the puzzle in his fingers. Hal, both hands buried in Bruce’s hair, tugged gently and then dragged through the tangled black strands and petted them again. 

“Hal?” Clark guessed. It must have been bad for Bruce to be tolerating this. Maybe there was some potentially violent component of the toxin. 

“Babe, what kind of conditioner do you use. Is it that fancy shit Alfred puts in the guest showers? Alfred is so good, you know, you don’t deserve him. He’s so good.” 

“Both,” Diana said. “I believe the term ‘high as a kite’ applies. They’ve been like this for over an hour, and I have a meeting with the Turkish ambassador to Italy. They cannot be left unattended.”

“Of course he’s good,” Bruce said, petulantly. “He’s _Alfred_.”

“Your hair is not natural. Nothing this soft is from your own body. Fuck. This is like touching a cloud.” Hal had not stopped moving his hands through Bruce’s hair, and he hunched himself forward and sniffed deeply. Bruce huffed in mild irritation. “You smell good. Like a pine tree had a baby with a vanilla candle.” 

“Thank you,” Bruce said, very quietly. 

“I’ll keep an eye on them,” Clark said, and Diana kissed his cheek and thanked him and left with a brief farewell. It was when she said goodbye that they noticed him in the room. Hal glared at him, and held a cupped palm between Clark’s line of vision and Bruce’s hair.

“Clark,” Bruce said, firmly. “Did you bring snacks.”

“No,” Clark said. “I could find something in the kitchen, I guess.”

“Babe,” Bruce said, up toward Hal. “You have to ask Alfred to make cookies. He’s pissed at me.”

“Me?” Hal asked, slumping back against the headboard. “Why?”

The word was not much more than a whine. 

“He won’t say no to you. I offended his delicate sensibilities by vomiting on the stair runner.” Bruce shook the puzzle and growled at it, and then shoved it up into Hal’s face, so quickly and closely that it nearly knocked Hal in the nose. “Fix this,” he demanded. “It’s broken.”

Hal took it and peered deeply into the twisted metal. A pair of oversized green hands materialized and solved the puzzle in seconds, and dropped both pieces on Bruce’s face.

“Babe,” Bruce said, faintly. “Ow.” 

“Oh, my bad,” Hal said, patting Bruce’s cheek. “I fucking forgot about gravity. Do you ever do that? Just forget.” 

“I do,” Clark interjected, and Bruce lifted his head.

“This,” he said slowly, “is a _private_ conversation between myself and Captain Jordan.” 

“Okay, okay,” Clark pacified, both hands held up. “I’ll stay out of it.”

He cursed the fact that he’d left home without his cell phone.

“Kal,” Bruce continued. “I love you, but you could stand to learn something about boundaries.” 

“I love you, too, Bruce,” Clark said, a shit-eating grin on his face. It was the sort of grin his Ma said was a look just hunting for trouble. Clark leaned back in the armchair he’d claimed. Bruce’s quarters had the best furniture. 

“Do you love me?” Hal asked, shaking Bruce’s shoulder. “Babe. Do you love me.”

“No,” Bruce said clearly. “I _adore_ you. You’re a good man, Hal, a man anyone could be proud to…”

He trailed off.

There was a soft gasp from Hal.

“Babe, are you crying?”

“No,” Bruce lied, dragging an arm across his face. “I’m allergic to dust.” 

“Babe,” Hal breathed. He clumsily patted Bruce’s shoulder and then leaned forward and kissed his forehead. “That’s so sad.” 

“Alfred would make cookies for you,” Bruce said, a bit sulkily. “It’s not like I wanted to ruin the stair runner.”

“He would make cookies for you,” Hal consoled. “I’d help him.”

“I like macadamia,” Bruce said.

“That’s what I love about _you_,” Hal said. He scrunched down on the bed and Bruce wriggled sideways to accommodate the movement. “You love the weirdest shit. Can I make cookies after I sleep, though? I’m so tired. I think I’ve been awake for like, three weeks.”

Bruce’s answer was a snore. He rolled in his sleep to curl on his side and Hal yawned, and looked across the room with a pleading expression.

“Clark, my man, my baby, sweetcheeks. I need a blanket. We’re freezing in here.”

Clark rummaged in the small closet of Bruce’s extra clothes and odds and ends and found a thick blanket. He tossed it toward Hal and watched the other man struggle for a moment with how to unfold it. 

“Wake me up if there’s an emergency,” Hal mumbled. He slid down further on the bed, displacing Bruce only long enough to throw an arm around him. Bruce rolled into the hug and snored again.

“Will do,” Clark promised, though he meant nothing of the kind. “Sleep tight.” 

Clark really, _really_ regretted not bringing his phone.


End file.
